It's Just Keith Now
by Tispy
Summary: About a year after being promoted to the East African branch of the BSAA, Keith Lumley becomes a broken man. / Rated T for language.


AN: This was a short one-shot that I wrote for my best friend sometime last year. I consider it an AU of sorts, as we have various story lines we use that would conflict with this setting. This one-shot takes place about a year or so after Keith's promotion. Hopefully my writing has improved from this, but reviews are still greatly appreciated. u v u Thank you for reading!

* * *

The sun burned hot over the landscape, shadows collapsing into them as it reached its peak in the cloudless sky. Nairobi was unusually hot, rising far above the average high for the season. A Scissor-tailed Kite hovered above the dry, empty outskirts of the city before suddenly swooping down, catching a small rodent in its grasp. The ascent happened just as quickly as the descent, the small bird rising back up to the sky.

Keith lowered his binoculars, squinting as the Kite disappeared into the distance. Bird watching was definitely not a hobby of his. Only something to pass the time while his co-worker, David, spoke to someone from the West African Branch about a few arrangements regarding the last bit of cleaning up after the Kijuju incident. He felt the warm exterior of the jeep through his shirt as he leaned back against it, tossing the binoculars back inside. Although they had now officially become assigned partners, it still felt strange to call him as such. For now, David would stay as just another 'co-worker' to Keith. He took one last drag of the cigarette between his lips before snuffing it out in the jeep's built-in ashtray. Smoking had always been a terrible habit of his, he'd think about quitting every day. But he never found the effort to try, and instead stood with his confidence that it wouldn't hurt him. Not too badly, at least.

"It's settled," the other man lazily tucked his phone away in his pocket, walking back around to Keith's side of the vehicle; "we're meeting them just South of Mount Kenya."

"_Sweet_. Did they say who they were sending?"

"Alomar from West Africa, and some big shot from up north in Europe," Keith's expression perked up immensely, his grin stretched from ear to ear. He was always glad to hear about Europe, his old home, and the people there. He missed one agent in particular. David snorted, rolling his eyes. It was no secret that, for one reason or another, David was not fond of the European Branch or their agents. He'd even hassled Keith when he had first arrived. "Anyway, I know you're probably oh-so-eager to see your old buddies, but they didn't say who it was. So don't ask, punk-face." The bitterness in his tone was clear as the pointed glare on his face, but Keith merely shrugged it off. Just another day that would be masked with David's attitude.

"Whatever, man. I'm driving this time." Keith held a hand out, cocking a brow as he waited. With a skeptical look, David tossed him the keys, pinching the bridge of his own nose after doing so. Now with the keys in hand, Keith twirled them around his forefinger, whistling as he hopped into the driver's side, David following on the opposite.

"Just don't go so fast this time. We nearly hit a zebra when I last let you drive."

"No promises."

* * *

Sheva held her hand up, signaling for Chris to stop talking as she looked at her watch. "They're right on time," she said, nodding in the direction of the approaching vehicle, "that's a first. I'll go grab the files, if you think you can handle them on your own." A cheeky smirk slid across the African woman's face as she gradually turned to walk back to their own vehicle, where sat a box over-stuffed with papers. Chris laughed under his breath, twisting to watch her walk away before looking back to the now-parked jeep, smiling at both men as they exited.

"Do you think they have food? Maybe they brought escargot or bratwurst. I'll go for anything right now, I'm starved. Even that bland ass European crap will do. I'm serious." David put both hands to his stomach, stumbling around in mock agony before slapping a hand down on his partner's shoulder. "I don't know how much longer I can take it! Go on without me!"

Snorting, Keith playfully shoved him aside, rolling his eyes. "Oh shut up, I told you to pick something up when we were in town and…" he trailed off, his attention turned to the tall standing man just ahead of them. "Christopher!" At the sight of a familiar face, his excitement shot up, eyes widening as he hastened his pace, arms held out in a surprised gesture. "The big shot they sent was you, ya big brute?" He grabbed for Chris' extended hand, shaking it in greeting, and returned the warming smile. "How you been doin', man?" It wasn't long before David had finally caught up, his steps much smaller and without the rush. Chris offered his hand to him as well, but awkwardly retracted it once it was silently refused, curling his fingers into his palm.

"Yeee-up. Haha, guess I'm your big shot, Keith." Scratching the back of his head, Chris' gaze drifted between the two men in front of him, though he tried his best to avoid staring at the new face. "Things've been busy… you know, Jill's giving up her position on the field for a desk job, Claire's getting married soon, we've been dealing with conflict in one of our Russian bases… what about you? I haven't seen you since just after Valkoinen Mökki. Who's this?"

"Oh." Keith's lips pursed a bit. "It's been quiet since the riots stopped. Kijuju sure gave the entire continent a scare, but, the worst of it's over." Glancing briefly at David, his face nearly surprised at the question. "Oh, uh, this is David Marks. He's uh, a co-worker of mine …"

"I'm his partner."

"Yeah he's a co-worker."

"Partner." Chris looked confusedly at the two, well aware of the discomfort between them. There wasn't one thing Keith loathed more about David than his insistence on the word. Countless times he had said they were partners in nothing but title. True partnership took time to develop, and honestly he didn't believe he'd ever be comfortable with calling anyone partner, aside from his previous one. An awkward feeling set in, and Keith looked for a way to change the subject.

"So… Chris, don't you still work for the North American branch? They said they were sending someone from Europe." Keith raised a brow, eying the brunette questioningly. It wasn't exactly rare that separate divisions would mesh together to work, but when they specified an agent's branch, it was usually their 'home base'. Beside him, David crossed his arms with an audible scowl, scuffling around in his spot.

"Well they-" Chris paused, noting the young man's behavior as he sipped from his coffee, "-they sent me because of my involvement. I've been working in Europe a lot lately, which might explain it. You know them, screwing up the little things."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Keith's grin faltered slightly, though he masked it with a nervous chuckle. "Guess I was just hoping to see someone else. Nothin' against you, of course." A gruff nod from the shorter -yet larger- man told him that no offense was taken by the statement. "You can probably guess, huh?" His weight shifted from foot to foot, the question in his head lingering on the edge of his tongue. It was all too tempting, but he feared the answer would be along the lines of 'stay focused' or 'I don't know'. Not only would he be left with no idea, but he would have to deal with David's irritated rants throughout the remainder of the day. Temptation became too much, and he decided that regardless of reaction, it couldn't hurt too badly to ask. "So how is he anyway? Quint, I mean. He hasn't returned any of my calls, and…" he sighed, "I don't know, I'm just worried he's mad at me about something."

Just as he had finished speaking, Sheva had rejoined them, dropping the box carefully at her feet. Chris looked back to her, and a sudden worried feeling boiled in Keith's stomach. The unsettling looks they exchanged sent him into a state of discomfort. It was as if they knew something. Sheva's jaw hung open slightly as if to speak, but she remained silent. Keith was about to question, but a lump formed in his throat, rendering him the same. He looked at both of them, pleading for an explanation, David standing by, his attitude suddenly dropped for curiosity. Something horrible had happened, and he knew it.

Chris shook his head, sighing softly, a solemn expression on his face. "You better not be joking about this, Keith. I swear if you-"

"Is this about…? Oh, for Christ sakes, Chris, he doesn't know! Just look at him!" Sheva snapped, waving a hand in his direction. "We lost contact with East Africa around that time, because of the riots knocking out their communication system."

"And no one ca-"

"No one could call. By the time everything was up and running, two months had already gone by." she interrupted Chris before he could speak again, her voice laced with distress. Keith didn't know Sheva particularly well, only when they had to do business together, but she obviously knew something he didn't. Though, he was grateful for her defending him in whatever it was that they were hiding. When she turned back to face him, it was only for a second, before the unease caused her to look to Chris to speak. Reluctantly, he stepped forward, placing a hand on the taller man's shoulder.

"Just remember that this was months ago. Months. Everything's okay now. There's nothing that'll change it."

"Chris, man," Keith managed to say, "stop beating around the bush. _Please_."

"Keith, a while ago Quint got sent out to do some investigating near Oslo, in Norway. We couldn't get in touch with you guys, and he refused to go with anyone else." Keith felt that lump form again, his mind already focused on what Chris was getting at as he explained painfully slow. "Something happened, and we lost contact with him for a while. We sent someone out to check on him, but when they-"

"Fuck. Chris. Just tell me!" he barked, panic appearing in his shaky voice. Chris tightened his jaw, giving him a disgruntled look.

"Quint's dead. By the time we got someone out there, he'd already bled out. We found that…

_Fractures…_

_His skull…_

_Blood everywhere…_

_We tried…"_

Chris' words were fading. Only a few managed to register in his brain, the rest passing through without any significance. Quint's dead. It had been put so bluntly. The words lingered in the air, mercilessly piercing through him every chance they got. His heart began to sink, swelling and aching in his chest. He could feel the hand on his shoulder, hear the voices calling out, but it was nothing but noise. None of the images before his eyes were clear, becoming nothing but a blurred, black and white pit. His whole world was suddenly spinning, though he remained stable, standing expressionless. There was no expression that could completely display the shock that took him over. It was if time had stopped for that minute, nothing moving, nothing beating.

Quint's dead.

_Quint's dead._

"Quint's dead?" The words were choked out, his voice strained as it cracked. It had yet to get through the layering denial in his head. "No… that's n-not even funny, man. C'mon. St-" Chris and Sheva's faces were sunken, both agents avoiding making eye contact with him. "No, no, no st-stop."

"Keith…"

"You're playing a sick joke, aren't you? Aren't you?" An accusing finger was pointed, prodding at Chris' chest. He was just entirely stricken with disbelief, especially having it broken to him this way. It wasn't possible. If it were true, someone would have told him a lot sooner. Sheva rubbed her arm, and for once, David was quiet and still. There was an unsettling aura surrounding all of them, picking at each and every one of them as silence took over. Keith's shoulders shook as his chest seemed to fall into itself, that pain of non-existent implosions.

"Even I didn't think you'd stoop that low! Come on, Chris, kn-knock off the shit and stop trying to…to…"

"To do _what,_ Keith? Do you really think I'd make this up? Just to see how you'd react?" He couldn't believe this. It was sick. It was cruel. Why was Chris doing this? Did he think it was funny? His eyes lowered slightly, just enough to meet the eyes of the shorter brunette. It was there he met that sorrowful gaze of sympathy, one that had to be utterly genuine. Not a fake. This was real. Chris didn't lie, no, he'd been through enough of his own pain to know better. But Keith still couldn't believe it. "I thought you already knew, maybe his parents got in contact with you." Chris paused to sigh, "You need to know that this was months ago, everything's okay. But right now you need to settle down so we can get back to wor-"

"D-d-don't you dare say everything's okay, Chris. Y-you just…you just have no…ugh!" Keith wiped the sweat forming on his brow before clutching the sides of his head, pacing around in disfigured circles as the anger rose up. "Fuck…" He refused to believe it. It wasn't real. This was just some horrible nightmare that he couldn't wake from. His legs were beginning to feel weak, ready to collapse right out from under him. As he paced, he shook his head and muttered continuously to himself, 'no no no'. It felt like entire world was falling apart from those two words. A crack in the universe that sucked everything up and left nothing but pitiful emptiness. A hole forming in his chest where a large portion of his heart had been.

Chris sighed, raising his hands up in a defensive manner as he shoved the silence away. "Calm down, let's just-"

"I don't want to _FUCKING_ calm down!" Sheva stumbled a step back as Keith raised his voice, awkwardly shuffling around in the spot where she stood. Momentarily, she locked eyes with David, motioning to the box. Nodding, David scooped it up in his arms, following the African woman away, Chris watching them leave to discuss the original arrangements. He turned his attention back to the former European agent, whose knees wobbled, ready to give out. "I-I thought-"

"You had no way of knowing — it's perfectly okay."

"Chris, it's NOT okay!" he snapped, shooting a look at him, "D-do you even know what this is like?" When he wasn't given a response, Keith's face turned sour and he turned away, crossing his arms across his chest. He attempted to stand tall, strong, look anything but upset. In truth, he was dying. The news was true. It couldn't be anything but. Deep inside, he knew a part of him had died along with his best friend, and it was easily felt. It didn't last long, this stubborn refusal of acceptance. The renewed silence was broken once more as Keith cursed under his breath, heading back in the direction of the jeep. He needed to get out. He needed to go home and do something; something to work off the flood of merged emotions.

"Keith, wait!" David called out, but Sheva held him back from leaving.

"Don't," she said firmly before throwing her gaze in Chris' direction, "Is he fit to drive? Shouldn't you stop him? What if he…does something stupid?"

"No, no he's not like that. He just needs his time. He can be stupid, but he's not that stupid. " Chris looked to the vehicle, barely recognizing the figure hunched over the steering wheel from his distance. Softly, to himself, he muttered, _"I hope_."

—

Keith snapped his eyes shut, refusing to let the moisture form. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't allow it. He rested his head against the wheel, folding his arms over top. Today had been wonderful up until this point, now it was the worst day he could possibly imagine. Months. It took months for him to find out about this, and that just made it so much worse. He'd always figured it couldn't get any worse than just the idea of someone so close to him dying, but he was wrong. His head feeling like more dead weight upon his shoulders, he looked up through the windshield, glaring at the small house he had parked in front of. It may have been his 'home' for the last few years, but right now it looked like just another house among a row of others, no significance or attachment to him. The ride here had been surprisingly difficult, spending a lot of the drive fighting off the tears that would show him to be weak.

He finally gathered up the motivation to get out of the vehicle, his entire body hot with frustration and anger. It wasn't quite clear what he was angry at - Chris, himself, Quint, Africa, maybe a mixture of things. All he knew was that he was angry. Keith slowly trudged towards the door, heavy steps taking more out of him than it typically should have. As he walked, he fumbled around with his keys, searching for the proper one to unlock the door. If one could ever angrily unlock a door, it was what he was doing now, grunting and twisting the handle right after to let the door swing open. In the doorway, he stood idle, scanning the quiet, empty room before him, only the last remaining flecks of sunlight keeping it illuminated. A quick jolt of energy allowed him to step inside, slamming the door behind him as he did. Against silence arose, taking over the warmly tinted living room. The heat was worse indoors, making him uncomfortably warm, his clothing sticking to his skin. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead, uncaught until it hit his brow without his usual head wear present. Minutes ticked on the clock, at least 3, before he tipped his head up towards the ceiling and closed his eyes, biting his lip. Another pause - not quite as long as the previous one - before the stress became too much.

"FUCK." For as long as his lungs would allow, he drew out the curse as he knocked over the closest object, letting the decorative pot smash against the floor. The shattering of the ceramic rang out through the house, the sound becoming almost pleasing. More, he wanted to break more. Release this pent up anger the only way he knew how without that voice of reason to guide him away from his potential mistakes. That pot was replaceable, but the friend who'd left him in this frustration was not. The pot was only the beginning; Keith was soon tearing posters from the walls, shredding apart and carrying on despite the thick paper cuts that now marked his skin. Every dish on the kitchen counter was thrown off, cracking and smashing. Normally he wasn't so impulsive or destructive, but something inside of him broke this day, something he couldn't figure out how to deal with properly. But it helped to break something else so he wouldn't feel so broken on his own. Keith knew what he was going to move onto next. He stepped back into the living room and got a firm grip on a tall shelf, shoving the entire piece of furniture over, movies, albums, and pictures scattering and falling with it. The frame of it broke with the sheer force as it struck the floor, splinters of wood flying about. Just get those damn movies out of sight.

He scratched at his scalp, the short, black hair damp with sweat as he paced around the entire house, tearing apart whatever he could until he finally tired himself out. The moment he'd opened his bedroom door, exhaustion washed over, and he stood there with his heavy, erratic breathing, calming down. His knees were beginning to feel weak again, seconds away from failing him. Keith ran his hand back through his hair, stumbling towards the bedside table, where a picture frame with two men sat. Picking it up in his unsteady hands, he brought it close to his face, squinting to see the figures displayed, the dark of the room making it difficult.

It was a picture of himself and Quint, in the airport just before he'd left for Africa, taken by Chris. The looks on their faces, Quint stuck in a headlock, it all brought back memories from that day. "You stubborn bastard…" he mumbled, finally giving into the gravity that pushed him down to his knees. "Y-you just had to do it yourself, didn't you?" He laid his head against the soft fabric hanging off his bed, the picture frame still in hand. After his vent of anger, he felt absolutely drained. No more power to hold back the tears that immediately formed, dripping down onto the glass. It just fell so freely now, his emotions switching so quickly. However, unlike he'd expected, he didn't feel like he was weak. It felt good just letting it out in an array of choked out pleas and sobs, his whole body shaking with each one.

He grabbed a fistful of the sheets before pulling himself up onto the bed, tossing the picture aside.

—

Three days had gone by. Three days since they'd met with Chris and Sheva near Mount Kenya. Three days since he'd been outside. Not once in these days had he moved to answer the phone, open the door, or even open a window. In fact, he'd barely moved at all, except for taking care of necessities. Besides, of course, food. Keith couldn't bear looking at any sort of food without nauseous waves flooding his stomach and throat. It hurt, being hungry, but he couldn't find a care in the world. The burning and aching were nothing compared to the pain within the upper part of his chest. His chin was scruffy with the growing stubble, left forgotten and unshaven for days. There was just no energy to move. No will or need to.

Bottles of liquor were strewn across the desk and floor beside the bed, bits of broken objects scattered about the entire house. Not a single light had been flicked on, each room engulfed with the darkness that avoided the sunlight leaking in through the windows, which had been mostly covered, blinds drawn. The heavy scent of booze filled the air, but to Keith, he could smell nothing but that rot of death.

He was sprawled across the disheveled bed, his back to the ceiling. On his stomach, his head remained turned towards the wall, staring blankly at its plain, uninteresting existence. Though, really, he wasn't looking at anything at all. Just staring at nothing. Keith's body was motionless; no sign of movement other than the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. All he could think of now was - what did it matter if he did or not? His cheeks were stained, though no tears fell any longer. There were no more to soak into the sheets below him, just dry burning.

He fallen into a slump, a hole, and couldn't escape, even if he wanted to. Finally, he'd come to see it. There was no more denial, because he just didn't have it in him to fight it anymore. Quint Cetcham, his best friend, was gone. Dead. Deceased. Never to return. It left an opening in his heart that plagued him each minute of the day. It weighed him down, rendering him useless and weak, without any emotion left on his face, which had been drained of its color. The first night, as he poured out his heart, his cheeks had tingled. Now, he was numb to all feeling, no matter where that feeling would have struck. The only feeling he could register was that void, growing and stretching day by day. It only brought him more misery in knowing that he didn't have his best friend to comfort him. Just hearing that voice would alleviate some of the pain. Make it somewhat more tolerable to get through. But with no more Quint, there was no more of that -to others, it had been quite annoying- consoling voice he'd grown to love. He just wanted to talk one more time. Call him and… and…

Keith shot up to a sitting position, his sore muscles screaming at him from the sudden movement. Hissing, he slid back to rest against the wall, reaching out to his desk with a trembling hand, grabbing his neglected cell phone, ignoring the flashing alert that told him there were messages. It was desperate, but he scrolled through the list of contacts, the number had left his memory with time, until he found the only 'Q' name listed. His breath hitched as he saw it, his heart, so nearly forgotten with its slow beats, thumped in his chest, that dull ache rising again. It was desperate. There was no way he could answer, but Keith only wanted to hear the answering machine. Months had gone by since his death, though, and the number was sure to be terminated. He just wanted to try. His thumb brushed over the call button after he selected the name, hesitant to move any further. Eventually, after a long moment of nothing, he pressed it, bring the phone up to listen to the dialing. It was ringing. He was waiting for the automatic machine to tell him the line was no longer in service, but to his absolute amazement, the line clicked and his heart stopped. How was it even possible for someone to answer? For a moment, he felt stupid, expecting Quint's voice calling out his nickname in his excited tone.

"Hello, Candice speaking." The stupidity rose. Of course it wasn't Quint. Quint was dead, Chris didn't lie, especially not about death. He felt like an idiot for even considering it could have been him. The number had been reused. His throat was locked, the shaking sensations resurfacing. The number had been reused already, and he would never get to call it again. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, mouth slightly ajar as he just barely kept breathing, staring into the nothingness again. It wasn't until the voice on the other end spoke again that he snapped away from his thoughts.

"Sorry, wrong number." Without waiting for another reply, he lowered the phone, hanging it up and dropping it to his lap. Not long after, it buzzed against him, and for once, he checked the ID. Just to see. The number and name listed were actually quite surprising to see, and he didn't know why, but something possessed him to answer.

"Mrs. Cetcha- Chris told you what?"

—

_'He bled out. Slowly. I-I just can't…What got him?'_

_'We honestly don't know what it was, Keith. They said all they could find was… the damage he took from the fall.'_

_'No B.O.W.s?'_

_'No. They searched, but there were no signs of them anywhere. They said even if they'd migrated, they wouldn't have left the body.'_

_'They didn't find…anything?'_

_'Just other boot marks. They couldn't find much else, but they think he was pushed. We're still waiting for them to find a suspect, a female one at that. The snow hid most traces of anything, but they mentioned it looking like another pair of prints, heels. Could he have been followed? He was acting rather strange in the days before it happened. I knew I should've worried more.'_

_'I… don't know. U-uh, could you… maybe, take me out to the-?'_

_'Of course, Sweetheart.'_

"Hey, Quint?"

"Yeah Grinder?"

"Remember back when we first became partners, on our first mission together? It was over in Portugal, right? When we had to take care of those infected dogs that moved in from Spain?"

"Heh, yeah. I remember that. When you got your ass cornered and I had to come'n'get you because you got all cocky?"

"Y-yeah. I was terrified. I didn't expect you really had my back until then, so I thought I had to do everything myself."

"We were partners, Grinder. Of course I had your back."

"Did I ever… you know, say thanks for that?"

"No, but I knew you meant to." Keith looked up from the ground to the grinning man across from him, sitting against the stone slab. "I always knew what you meant, Keith. You've just always been too proud to say it. But I understand. You're not exactly the most expressive of people when it comes to being grateful, but I knew you well enough." A rut formed in his brows as he sat silently, a dull ache forming in the pit of his stomach. Of course he knew that he was thankful, no one had ever known him better. And no one ever would. No one ever would because Quint was his best friend, no other could compare. No, he was more than his best friend. Quint was his best friend, partner, and brother. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a somber smile, his eyelids lowering as the forming tears burned.

His hands dug into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers curling and uncurling again and again. His vision was obstructed as the tears filled his eyes, and he turned to wipe them away. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you needed someone to watch your back a-and I-" he stopped mid-sentence as he glanced back up, only to find his friend gone, vanished. "I miss you, buddy." Sighing softly, he pulled a hand from his pocket, dragging his fingers against the grass beside him, the tips just barely brushing his palm. Without Quint there, all that lay before him was the lustrous headstone and the freshly placed flowers he had set down when he had arrived, about an hour ago. The colorful arrangement looked drained of life the minute he'd set them down, his entire world paling.

Keith's bottom lip trembled as he held back the sob that threatened to escape. "I-I just… I love you, man." The sob managed to choke out, tears now freely and shamelessly staining his cheeks as they fell. "A-and I'm sorry I didn't show you enough. I…" Unable to hold it down any longer, he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with every hitching breath and every suppressed cry emitted. "I said I wouldn't cry again. I can't even do that right. C-couldn't even ask when you didn't call for months. I just… I j-just didn't know." Wiping his eyes as he pulled his face from his hands, he stared back at the stone, the engraved words filling him with nothing but regret and sorrow. The name 'Quint Cetcham' had been carved into the top half, and every time he looked at it, his eyes burned stronger. It was too early in his life to be seeing this, much too early.

Now it sat there, mocking his pain, mocking every joke, every "you'll get yourself killed out there alone" or "I always got your back". The irreversible would haunt him for years, because he could only find himself to blame, and never again would he have a friend he trusted or loved so dearly. Never again would he have the chance to run up and down the halls, laughing and causing trouble, or snap about the use of movie talk, or even tease him about that obsessive love of computers. No more movie nights, comfort hugs, or goofing off at work together. No one to trust when he needed to talk.

_There was no more Quint and Keith. It was just Keith now_.

"I'm going to miss you so much." Keith rubbed his swollen eyes as he got to his feet, his entire body aching from sitting for so long. It was just becoming unbearable to sit there alone in his mourning. As much as he didn't want to, he knew it was best if he left. He froze where he stood for a moment, staring silently at the gravestone with the seemingly endless tears still streaming down. Sniffling, he shook his head and turned away. He wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words, knowing they would go unheard anyway. Just another thought to add to the pain.

Idle-minded, he walked away, refusing the temptation to look back, half expecting to see Quint on his tail, grinning just as happily as ever. He groped around his pocket, digging out his cell phone and searching through the contacts. His finger hovered above the call button as he scrolled to Quint's name again, but kept looking until he found the section of 'M' names. Keith pressed the phone to his ear, stopping in his tracks as he waited for the ringing to cease. It had been so long since he'd called this number, it had probably been months. There was shame in knowing that his life in Africa had taken over, making him forget everyone he loved. Maybe if he'd called Quint more often before, maybe he would at least have been able to talk to him one last time. The blackouts in Nairobi still would have prevented him from being there to help though, if only he hadn't taken this promotion… '_Please be there._'

"Hello?" He let out a breath of relief as he heard the soft voice on the other line, sounding just as fragile as his own - but this was normal for her. Before answering, he wiped his nose and eyes again inhaling deeply.

"H-hey Ma. Uhm. I-I was just wondering…" He stopped short to bite his tongue. He couldn't let her hear him crying, though it was inevitable. The clarity of his distress was high, she was sure to hear it in his voice. "I'm in Boston right now and… and I know this is short notice, but I was wondering if you'd mind me coming down to see you for a week or two."

"Is this about Quint?" His heart dropped, the name echoing through his head. He couldn't bare to hear or say it.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's about him. I," he sighed, "I just need someone to talk to. And… you're all I have left."


End file.
